


Rated M

by Buttsuoka_Rin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, First Kiss, First Time, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttsuoka_Rin/pseuds/Buttsuoka_Rin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John realise their feelings for each other. Things seem very nice and domestic until Moriarty gets involved. When Sherlock is captured it's up to John to rescue his boyfriend from the criminal's evil clutches.</p><p>(Re-written, properly edited, second-time uploaded. This was first written about a year ago, so not season 2 compatible. There are currently 24 chapters on FF.net, but I will be re-editing most of them. )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, as mentioned in the summary, this is a re-upload and some changes are being made. On FF.net this has received a huge amount of reviews since I stopped writing it last September. I uploaded it here a few months ago but it was in dire need of re-editing. I will upload chapters regularly enough. I'm taking a short hitaus from my teen!AU fic Swimming Pools and Rugby Balls.
> 
> Warning: not a lot of build up to their first kiss at all. Rating will change as the story progresses.
> 
> Let me know what you think.

It was a relatively normal day when Sherlock and John's relationship elevated to another level. What had started out as partnership turned swiftly into friendship. 'Best friends' is what people would refer to them as. _"What's that? Sherlock Holmes has a friend? You must be mistaken."_ That's what people normally said.

But many people didn't know the other side of Sherlock. The good side; the humble, sensitive, emotional side. Most people just assumed the man was a shallow and cold human being, incapable of showing any kind of remorse for the people he would both knowingly and unknowingly upset. Then again, John Watson wasn't most people.

Of course, there were other exceptions - Mycroft Holmes, for example. Sure, he and Sherlock may not have had the most understanding relationship growing up, but they were brothers. Nobody could change that. Mycroft would always be protective of his younger brother and Sherlock may have bouts of resentment for that fact, but despite this there would always be a family bond between them. A very unstable one, yes, but a bond nonetheless.

Another person was Gregory Lestrade. Of all of the people in Scotland Yard, Lestrade was the only one who appreciated Sherlock's genius. He also knew there was another, greater man beneath the stoic, cold consulting detective who whizzed about the crimescenes. There would be little hints; the flash of a glare when someone made reference to his past life and troubles, the little upward quirk of his lips when John fired off clues by himself, and what could only be described as adoration in his eyes when John saved a life.

What spurred Sherlock on to actually make a move was still unclear. Maybe it was instinct. It happened like this...

 

"John?" Sherlock looked up from where he lay on the sofa towards John. "You're quieter than usual. What's wrong?" The doctor glanced towards his flatmate once, thinking how he could say the same thing. Things were... Well, not exactly _awkward_ between them, but something had definitely changed since the pool. Neither of them had been hurt, though the scare had been enough to make them both a little more aware of their friendship and each other's security.

Actually, it was rather a lot more than friendship. It was the lingering touches, the brushing of elbows and fingertips as they walked to crimescenes, the furtive glances in each other's direction... It made something warm erupt in John's stomach and Sherlock, well, he was just a tad confused by it all.

"Nothing, Sherlock, just thinking… We need to go shopping tomorrow." John stood and made his way to the kitchen in his bare feet. "Tea?"

"Please." Sherlock sat up straight and watched John as he pondered about the kitchen, fetching two mugs down from the top shelf. His eyes followed the movement of John's shirt as it rode up, exposing a smooth line of skin. Feeling his cheeks heat up, the detective tore his eyes away and silently berated himself for staring; it wasn't the first time that had happened. 

And that was the moment he decided to do something about it.

"You want Darjeerling, yeah?" John didn't hear Sherlock get up and pad over to the kitchen. Not until he was by the door.

"Yes, John." John jumped and almost dropped the box of Darjeerling tea. He didn't make it obvious that he got a fright though, just nodded and prepared two mugs of tea. Turning around, he handed the detective his cup. 

"John..." Sherlock, after a few moments, set his cup down on the kitchen counter and approached his friend. With his teacup halfway to his mouth, John turned and stard up at Sherlock. He lowered his cup and lifted his chin. 

"Yes?"

"Can I do a little experiment?"

"Uhm sure." John glanced over at the cluttered kitchen table towards Sherlock's experiment set. It was a bit off that Sherlock was _asking_ him. "Do you want me to give you some room?"

"No, John, I mean on you." Sherlock's voice had gone softer, almost meeker. The detective wet his lips nervously and took a step closer to John, crowding him back against the countertop.

"Oh…" 

"Here." Sherlock reached out his hands. John swallowed silently when he felt two hands on either side of his face, thumbs resting on his cheeks. Sherlock leaned forward tentatively until his lips were brushing against John's in a soft, chaste kiss.

It took a while for John to react, but when he did, the first thing he did was place his hands on Sherlock's narrow hips, and kiss back. The kiss got quite clumsy then; Sherlock not having enough experience and John not expecting this. Though it was clumsy, neither man disliked it. Sherlock was the first to pull back and let his hands fall to John's shoulders, before sliding off entirely. He glanced away and stared at a spot on the floor for a few seconds, then lifted his up to meet John's.

"…Sherlock-" John removed his hands and they both separated.

"Finally. We've been dancing around each other for weeks, John, even you can't deny that."

"I- I just, that was rather unexpected." John willed his mind to search for a better reply. What in the world could he say without babbling? That _of course_ they have, of course he wanted to do that. But then Sherlock spoke, and it wasn't what John expected to hear.

"You should go to bed. It's late." Sherlock was looking straight at John now, those silver-blue eyes burning right through the doctor.

John blushed and turned to stir his tea again. Had Sherlock meant that? Or was that really just a test to see if John liked him?

Sherlock slid behind him and carefully set his arms around the doctor's waist. John froze and let out a sigh.

"I know what you're thinking. You're wondering if I just used you as an experiment." He felt Sherlock shake his head. "Do you really think I would do that to you?"

"No. I suppose not." John couldn't help but smile, turning around in Sherlock's grasp. "So... What now?"

"Well, we need to go shopping don't we? I propose a date. Tomorrow morning, Tesco. I hear they have a two for one offer on the milk!"

John could only laugh.

"Yep. We're fresh out of shampoo and milk."

***

John had organised an actual date the next day, just to make things official. It was in Angelo's, of course, but the owner certainly didn't think of it as their first date. This time, though, he'd set up a little booth in the corner with not one, but two candles.

It had gone exceptionally well. In fact, by the time a week had passed, the two of them were sharing John's bed and John had whispered that he was willing to take their relationship as slow as Sherlock wanted.

By the time two weeks had passed, they adopted two cats: a white and fluffy kitten named Bitsy (John's), and a bad-tempered Tabby named Tobias (Sherlock's).

It wasn't until they reached the one month mark that the issue of sex came up.

"Shall I heat up our soup and put on the telly?" John stuck two cups of tomato soup into the microwave and set it for two minutes when Sherlock nodded and opened a DVD collection of Doctor Who for them to watch. When John came back with the two soups and the two cats nosed about the flat, Sherlock pulled the table over to the sofa. He was sitting beside John with his legs draped over John's lap. John used them as a resting spot for his cup of soup and they settled down.

"Any texts from Lestrade lately?"

"Not a word, strangely." Sherlock checked his phone out of instinct and, seeing no updates, tossed it aside. When they both finished with their soup and the cups were out of their way, the two went back to watching Doctor Who. But Sherlock was fidgety and couldn't sit still. Just as John was about to ask what was wrong, Sherlock shifted his position suddenly so he was straddling the older man's lap.

"W-well this is unexpected." John chuckled and settled his hands on his flatmate-turned-lover's bony hips. Sherlock's arms snaked to the back of John's neck and pulled him forward for a kiss. It was sloppy and oddly needy.

"Whoa, was there something in your soup?" John joked, smiling up at Sherlock when they finally broke apart.

"John." Sherlock leaned down to nip at the shell of John's ear, causing John to flush and bite his lip. Pulling back a moment later, John's eyes met Sherlock. There was something new in them, a sort of wanton look.

"…I love you, John." Sherlock leaned forward, body resting against his lover's. It was the first time he'd uttered the words, though John wasn't surprised. He simpy grinned and squeezed Sherlock's hip.

"I love you too, Sherlock. Now what's all this about?"

"I Mmhfhm moo mmf." Sherlock mumbled into John's neck.

"What?" John pushed Sherlock back and caressed his cheek. "I can't hear you when you're mumbling into me, love."

"I said I want… I want to do it." Patches of colour stained Sherlock's cheeks and he had to look away from John to hide his embarrassment.

"Oh... Only if you're sure, Sherlock. Like I said before, I'll go as slow as you need." Sherlock had to admire John's patience with him and he gave him another kiss.

"I'm ready. But… It will be my first time."

Your first time? You mean you've never…" John rubbed Sherlock's hips and gave his lover a hesitant look.

"You're my first. First proper partner too. Look, John I trust you and love you. I just need to be able to show you." Sherlock squirmed a bit on John's lap, letting his hands slide down the front of the man's shirt. John caught those long, slender hands with his own and pressed a small kiss into the palm.

"Well, we should move to the bedroom in that case. I don't think the cats really want to see this." John nodded towards the velvet cat beds, where Bitsy and Tobias were watching them. Sherlock calmed down with a little smile and slid off John, offering his hand. John took it and in a matter of minutes, they were upstairs in John's bedroom with their hands still clasped together. 

John was the first of the two to make his move. His hands moved to Sherlock's neck. Slowly, they started to undo the first button on his shirt. He paused then, looking up at his lover for some sort of approval. Sherlock nodded swiftly and undid his belt, while John continued to open the buttons one by one.

Stepping back, John started to open his own shirt buttons before he was stopped by Sherlock.

"Let me. I want to." And so John let Sherlock take over. As his shirt was slipped off and let fall to the ground, he felt a cool hand on his left shoulder – the one with the scar. Sherlock's fingers traced the smooth scar delicately, as if it were something fragile. Eventually Sherlock kissed it, his plump lips brushing carefully over it. Pulling back, he let his own shirt fall to the ground, picked it up again and folded both of the shirts neatly over the back of a chair.

"Come here, Sherlock." John spoke softly as he sat on the edge of his bed, removing his trousers at the same time Sherlock did. Both men were now in their underwear. John couldn't help look at Sherlock's pale, slightly toned but lean frame. It looked as if it had been sculpted. Sherlock seemed to be embarrassed of his body, not meeting John's eyes as he slipped onto his lap again.

"Are you alright?" John slid his hands down Sherlock's back, emitting a shudder from the taller male.

"I-I'm fine John, really." Sherlock arched his back into his lover. John secured his hands at the base of Sherlock's back before swiftly switching their positions so that he was pinning Sherlock onto the bed. He leaned down and gave Sherlock a slow kiss, moving the kisses down to his jawline. Sherlock gasped when the sensitive skin just under his jawline was sucked on gently. His head tipped back, leaving the rest of his neck exposed and vulnerable to those lips. John took the hint and his kisses trailed slowly to the side of Sherlock's neck, sucking deeply and even nibbling just a tiny bit, hard enough to leave a love bite but gentle enough that he didn't break the skin. Eventually his tongue travelled to Sherlock's collarbone.

All the while, Sherlock was breathing deeply underneath him, mouth gaping slightly. By now there was a slight pitching in his boxers.

"John, I think I need you to a-appease my little problem." How the detective managed such thorough sentences in his current state was a mystery. John just smirked and moved his hand down to palm the area, causing Sherlock to gasp again and place his hands upon the doctor's strong arms.

In one swift movement, John let his hand slip under the waistband of Sherlock's boxers, teasing the delicate skin there before he pulled them down. It released Sherlock's cock and John took a few seconds to appreciate it. Sherlock's cheeks were a deep pink in colour and he had to bite his lip to keep his breathing steady. John could feel his own erection grow in his boxers and they became awfully tight as his hand curled around Sherlock.

 

It didn't take more than a few hard strokes to turn Sherlock into a trembling, moaning fraction of his usual self. John moved his hand down to his lover's entrance, one finger prodding at the taut ring of muscle very gently.

"I'm going to prepare you now-"

"Wait, John. In the top drawer beside us…" Sherlock gestured with a fling of his arm to the bedside locker, almost embarrassed. John stopped just long enough to open the drawer, discovering a bottle of lube.

"I figured we m-might be needing it soon. Just to make things smoother?"

"Of course." John smiled and gave Sherlock a re-assuring kiss. Opening the lube with a loud, plastic click, John squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. Snapping the bottle shut, he put it back on the locker and then returned swiftly to where he left off; prodding the entrance with his middle finger. "Take a breath, love." John said as he pushed in. The tight heat that encased his finger next told John to be thankful of that lube.

Sherlock took a sharp breath and his eyes squeezed shut, arching his back and allowing the finger to settle inside him. John looked up, afraid for a moment that he'd hurt him.

"The first time is always the worst, Sherlock. It will get better I promise you." John leaned down to nip on the shell of Sherlock's ear and slipped another finger slowly in. When that one was inside, he made a scissoring motion with his fingers to stretch him out. A low moan rumbled out from the detective along with another, higher, almost squeak as John's fingertips grazed off his prostate. John removed his fingers at that point and lowered Sherlock's body down onto the bed behind them. Taking off his now painfully tight boxers, he freed his own cock.

"Are you ready, love?" He asked Sherlock. Taking the lube again, John prepared himself. Sherlock could only nod, opening his eyes a fraction to look up at the beautiful, tanned and muscular body of his John, his ex-army doctor. John guided Sherlock along and told him to wrap his legs around his waist. As he lined himself up, Sherlock's feet found the base of John's back and his hands held onto John's broad shoulders.

"Alright." John whispered, pushing forward. As he did so, Sherlock's head tipped back again and he took a breath. John pushed further into the lanky detective until he was buried to the hilt, keeping him steady by holding him just below his hips. John himself had to close his eyes and groan. He canted his hips and pulled out slowly, then pushed back in. Gradually, when he was sure it wasn't going to hurt, John picked up his speed.

The detective's grip on John's shoulders tightened, nails almost digging into the tanned skin. Even in his state of pleasure, he was careful not to dig his nails into the scar. He wasn't sure how it felt to touch, but he wasn't chancing hurting John.

One of those thrusts nudged at Sherlock's prostate, making the detective near shriek out, bucking his hips upwards and grabbing onto John tighter. They were in a tight embrace, Sherlock purring and moaning in euphoria and John grunting with each sharp thrust of his hips. Sometime in all that heat, their positions changed once more and John was now lying on his back with Sherlock straddling his waist.

The detective's hands were splayed across John's chest to hold him up and he leaned forward, rolling his hips and panting with each move.

"Sher-Sher-"That was all John could manage before letting out a loud groan and spilling himself inside his lover. Sherlock shuddered once, pausing and moaning out John's name as he himself came. He may have made John's chest quite sticky but neither of them cared.

Sherlock's eyes were closed, and the arm that had been holding him up finally gave out. He collapsed onto John's broad chest, his cheek pressed against John's scar and his hand still pinned between them. Exhaling shakily, he refused to open his eyes or look up at John. He was either embarrassed about how sensitive he had been, or he was regretting what had happened.

For a while they lay there, catching their breath and not saying a word. John's hand found its way to Sherlock's hair, carding through the dark, slightly damp curls.

"John…" Sherlock breathed and finally raised his head but his eyes still couldn't meet John. It had been one of the best feelings in the world but he still found it odd. A month ago and he never would have thought this could have happened; now look at them. John, however, had just acted out his fantasies, the very thing he had been thinking about since his feelings first emerged.

"Shh… Sleep now, love." John whispered, kissing the top of Sherlock's hair and lshifting to lay down properly beside him. He reached over and pulled the covers over their bodies. "I love you."

"I love you too, John." The detective mumbled as sleep finally took over. John's arms found their way around his lean body and held him close, inhaling the smell of tea tree shampoo and something distinctly Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning John woke up first. A stream of sunlight shone through the curtains and illuminated the two bodies. Sherlock too woke up when John stirred, being the light sleeper he is. For a second he said nothing and his memories of the previous night came flooding back. Though he would never admit it, he blushed.

"Good morning." John yawned, leaning over to press a small kiss on Sherlock's temple. Sherlock moved around and caught John with his lips, kissing him deeply. As he turned, a dull throb came from his bottom and he squirmed pulling back.

"Morning."

"Sore?" John smiled and slipped out of the bed. He opened the curtains and squinted as the sun filled the whole room.

"Just a bit." Sherlock lied. He sat upright with a wince. "But you may have to help me into a bath."

"I suggest a cold one. It does help." John offered his hand and Sherlock took it gently to be hauled onto his feet.

One cool bath later found John downstairs, making tea and toast. He still hadn't dressed fully so he was standing in a pair of old pyjama bottoms. Tobias and Bitsy were playing with toy mice and jingle balls, meowing softly when John threw them both a bit of crust. The smell of warm toast wafted upstairs and brought Sherlock down in a dark blue shirt and black trousers. The love bite John had marked his skin with last night was peeking over his collar.

"You're going to eat." John said, plating up a slice of toast and putting it in front of Sherlock. He would have protested, but the detective instead just shrugged and took a small bite.

"I got a text from Lestrade thismorning." Sherlock held out his phone to John.

 _Package left for you at Scotland Yard. It looks suspicious – GL_ John frowned at the text.

"Odd. Usually stuff is sent here." John sat down with his own toast and spread a generous amount of jam onto it.

"We'll go there after breakfast and see what's happening. I'm sure they've kept it up for me." Though Sherlock was acting calm, something felt wrong in John's gut; this seemed dangerous. But how much more dangerous could things get? He and Sherlock had been through enough things already what with the lead-up to the pool and their encounter with Moriarty.

"Right. I'll go get dressed then." John smiled at his lover, but the feeling didn't subside.

 

Upstairs, John got dressed too quickly. His clothes from the previous day were dumped into the washing hamper and that was filling up fast; another thing to add to the to-do list. Sighing, he felt around his wardrobe drawers and pulled out the first thing his hand came into contact with. It was just a plain white t-shirt and a checkered shirt. He pulled on a pair of dark blue jeans and shoes and headed back downstairs where Sherlock was already donning his coat and scarf.

"Did you feed the cats?" John asked, grabbing his keys. Bitsy seemed to be quite content as she pounced after Tobias's tail.

"Yes, John. Tobias seems to be warming up to Bitsy." As he said that, the tomcat swatted at Bitsy's nose with one tabby paw. John smiled over at the two cats briefly and ushered his lover out the door.

Sherlock hailed them both a cab and gave the cabbie a quick "Scotland Yard" as he settled back into his seat. The possibilities flew a mile a minute around John's brain – was it a present from one of Sherlock's previous clients who didn't know where he lived? Was it from an admirer, a different country, a… a threatening letter? He shook his head of that thought and tried to clear his mind as they reached Scotland Yard. It had started to rain heavily during the ride and now John was cursing himself for not bringing a thicker jacket.

Sherlock left John to pay the cabby, sweeping out into the rain as soon as the car had come to a full stop. He barely twitched his coat free of the cab's door before it slammed shut behind him. He disappeared into the building in the matter of a moment, stripping off his scarf as soon as he came through the doors. "Lestrade! Where's this package you texted me about?"

John threw the cabbie a fiver and stepped out after Sherlock and into the station. He noticed Sherlock taking off his scarf and cringed, but he quickly shook that off and looked at Lestrade. His arms folded across his chest and he looked around for any sort of suspicious looking package.

There was a small box sitting on the corner of Lestrade's desk, and the DI nodded to it. "That. Showed up first thing this morning with the rest of the mail." 

Sherlock glanced at Lestrade before picking the box up and turning it this way and that. Something inside rolled across the bottom as the box was rotated, and Sherlock set it down quite quickly.

"You checked it for any traps already, I assume?" He was answered with a short nod from the DI. John peered down at the box with a squint. The feeling of something being out of place had still not left him and now that he saw it right in front of him, his fears were heightened.

"The writing looks familiar." John noted, taking in the curvy handwritten name.

"Of course it does, John." Sherlock had borrowed a letter opener from Lestrade's desk and was working it under the taped-down label. The tape finally came free. Sherlock tossed the letter opener into the mess on the DI's desk, and pulled the flaps of the box back. A brief flash of puzzlement crossed his face when he noticed what was inside. After a moment, he muttered a single word: "Moriarty."

"Moriarty?" John's voice changed, growing dark. "Shit... What is it, Sherlock?" He glanced around, expecting the psycho to jump out at any point. He felt a bit dizzy but took a breath and stepped up beside Sherlock, a look of confusion crossing his features at that point. The box contained three things: A small red lighter emblazoned with a golden 'M' in fanciful script, a miniature tape recorder, and a photo of John and Sherlock at their last crime scene.

At least, Sherlock had to assume it was John; where his head would have been was a charred hole in the photograph.

"I'd have you dust for prints, Lestrade, but he's smarter than that."

"...There would be no need for that." John cut in before Lestrade could comment. "It's obviously Moriarty. Who else would send something so strange and with an 'M' on it? And we already know he dislikes me." His eyes narrowed a bit and he swallowed. "Sherlock, what does this mean?"

Lestrade remained silent, looking between the suspicious items and the two men. He looked tired and the situation of Moriarty didn't seem to be helping. Also, the DI could swear there was something on Sherlock's neck…

"He said he'd burn the heart out of me if I didn't stop what I was doing. At the pool." Sherlock said softly. His eyes flicked to John, however briefly, before returning to the contents of the box. "It seems that he means to make good on his promise."

John banged his fist on the table and cursed. He stood up straight then, took a second to compose himself and looked to Sherlock. He apologised and looked back at the strange package. "He won't burn the heart out of anybody. Not while I'm around." The doctor shook his head.

"I don't intend to stop, John. I refuse to let him think he's won... Yes, Lestrade, it's a love bite! Now would you _please_ stop staring at my neck?" Sherlock's cheeks flushed as he said it, but Lestrade's attention was sufficiently distracted from the red mark peeking out of the collar of his shirt. "Mycroft already knows of this, I'm sure. He'll have someone watching you constantly, John, to make sure you aren't snatched off the street going to the shops for milk or something."

"Remind me to be nicer to your brother." John said dryly after a moment and rubbed his palms together. "And what about you? That psycho may be obsessed with you but that doesn't mean he wouldn't try anything shady." 

Lestrade walked over to the two of them, avoiding Sherlock's eye (and neck) and cleared his throat. "So, what's the plan?"

"Carry on as though nothing's changed." Sherlock plucked the lighter out of the box and pocketed it. "John and I are going to Bart's for the afternoon. As the saying goes, there's more than one way to skin a cat, and wouldn't it be wonderfully ironic if we tracked Moriarty down through the lighter he gave us? Come along, John." Sherlock collected his scarf and swept out with his usual drama.

"We'll keep you updated." John nodded to Lestrade and followed Sherlock. In his mind, he cursed himself for not killing Moriarty at the pool. It might not have been possible, but he still should have tried. They reached Bart's eventually and headed for the labs. "You think Moriarty left clues in there?"

"No, but it may be possible to track him down through the type of lighter. It's clearly expensive. He's not out buying those cheap plastic disposables to send death threats." Sherlock hung his coat and scarf on a peg along with John's and actually smiled at Molly. The lab tech seemed a little stunned at the smile. "Hello, Molly. Lovely day, don't you think?"

Making his way over to the table, John picked up the lighter gingerly and tilted it upside-down. "Well, it doesn't say where it's made. Not on the bottom anyway. What type of metal is the clicker?" He put it back down and looked at Sherlock.

"An expensive lighter wouldn't be made out of cheap metal."

Sherlock had sent Molly off for coffee by the time he came over to John's table.

"Oh, it's not the lighter I'm interested in so much as the contents." Flipping back the cap of it, Sherlock gingerly pulled the guts out of the lighter and handed the shell back to John. "Look inside for a stamp of any sort. They wouldn't put it on the outside where it would mar the finish or wear off." There was a short pause, and puzzlement crossed Sherlock's face again. "Empty... Why would he send an empty lighter in the post?"

"To put us off? Maybe he used it all to burn me out of the picture." John's grumbled and checked the inside for any significant logo or anything. He snorted then and had to do a double check. "Believe it or not, it's a DuPont! It's not in the usual DuPont shell, though." He made a thoughtful noise and handed the lighter back to Sherlock.

"He means for me to fill the lighter myself," The detective muttered, taking the shell back from John and stuffing the workings back into it.

"Something that I do is going to trigger a chain reaction that's going to lead to something happening to you - something to put you in hospital or… leave you dead." His silver eyes flicked up as Molly came back in with his coffee and he gave her another crooked smile. Had anyone cared to notice, they would have seen that Sherlock was holding his head just so at the perfect angle to show off the red mark on his neck.

John cursed quietly. He took into consideration this and replied. "And if you don't, something else would probably happen." He looked at Molly as her face dropped a bit. She cleared her throat and made herself look busy as John took Sherlock further away to speak to him in a hushed voice. "Sherlock, if it comes down to it... If your life depends on it, I want you to risk mine." 

Sherlock didn't say a word. He was staring down at his fingers as he thought that over.

"I hope it won't come down to that." He said finally, not looking at Molly or John. "Molly, I told DI Lestrade that I'd be here most of the afternoon. Be a dear and tell him I've gone home if he calls? Thank you." He collected the lighter and his coat and scarf before sweeping out, looking distinctly troubled.

"O-okay. Your coffee- Oh, never mind then." Molly blushed and took the coffee away, smiling at John. The poor girl was just so unobservant.

"Where are you going? Sherlock!" John followed his lover, grabbing his arm and making him stop. 

"I'm going to walk back to the flat. If you go in that direction," one hand pointed down the main street, "Mycroft will have a car meet you within five minutes and take you home. I need some time to clear my head, John. Please don't worry." He touched his lover's cheek lightly before striding off, his hands deep in his pockets and his coat flaring slightly behind him.

John opened his mouth to protest but the touch to his cheek calmed him down somewhat. "Okay... I love you." He said, though Sherlock was probably too far gone to hear it. He took a breath and gave Sherlock one last look before turning on his heels and headed the other direction. Sure enough, a black car pulled up about five minutes later.

Mycroft Holmes was actually kind enough to lean over and open the door for John. "Get in, Doctor Watson. Let's have you home before everyone's favourite psychopath snatches you off the street." Leaving the door open, he leaned back in his seat, his usual umbrella propped on the car's floor between his feet. John nodded, glancing around once before sitting beside Mycroft. He didn't quite meet his eyes, but the doctor did say thank you.

"Look, do you know anything more about this case?" His hands twisted together as the car pulled off. Mycroft had that man-in-power aura about him and it was almost proctective.

"Only that there was a rather threatening package left for my brother at Scotland Yard. A threat upon your person, actually, given his general upset and your anxiety about all this." The car pulled smoothly away from the curb as Mycroft spoke. "It's a wonder Sherlock's even letting me get my hand in this one."

"You're his brother." John replied with a little shrug. He glanced quickly at Mycroft and then out the window, watching as London passed by. "You won't let anything happen to him will you?"

Mycroft glanced out the window, presumably to check where they were at the moment. "I'll do everything in my power to keep the two of you safe. There is currently CCTV being installed as we speak."

John was grateful that Sherlock had a brother like Mycroft. Sure, they may not be close brothers, but Mycroft cared. As the car pulled up outside 221B, John stepped out.

"Thank you, Mycroft. Really."

"Not a problem, Doctor Watson-"

"Please, call me John." The doctor managed to smile at the elder Holmes brother. The other nodded once and closed the door, only to have the tinted window roll down right after.

"Have a good day, John." With that, the sleek black car pulled away and drove off. John could only watch as it turned a corner and he walked up to his front door. He took the seventeen steps two at a time.


	3. Chapter 3

John paced around the flat like a worried mother waiting on her children to come home. Bitsy had purred around his feet when he came home, nuzzling into his leg as a welcome of some sort. Tobias, however, had taken to sitting by the coat rack. He kept glancing back at John as if to say "where's the other one?"

Taking out his phone, John sent a text. It had been at least an hour since he left Sherlock and the worry was eating away at his gut. _Where are you? I'm worried. Please don't be much longer, Sherlock – JW_ Putting his phone back on the table, John stopped to take a breather and make some tea. Carding a hand through his short hair, he clicked down the kettle.

Ten minutes later, John heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking. Jumping up from his seat, he rushed to the door and yanked it open in time to see a dishevelled looking Sherlock stagger up the stairs. He was clutching at his left arm and there were small cuts around his lip.

"Jesus Sherlock!" John helped his boyfriend up the last few steps and settled him down on his armchair. "I was so worried! Who did this?" He was fussing around, taking off Sherlock's blood stained coat and tossing it aside.

"John, stop. I'm fine." Sherlock wheezed, laying his head to rest on the back of his chair. In the light, John could see a small bruise around his lover's right eye. His bottom lip was split and bleeding around the cuts. "It's just a few bruises."

"And a bleeding arm, black eye, and from the sounds of it a bloody cracked rib. I am a doctor you know." John shook his head, angry at whoever did this. "…Please tell me it wasn't Moriarty?"

"No, no. It was just two of his goons. G-got me with a knife to the arm… Threw a few punches too."

"And then what?" John started to open Sherlock's shirt, careful of his ribs.

"And then I got them back. They're really quite thick." Sherlock winced and tried to swat John's hand away, but stopped when he saw the concerned and stern look on his face. "Sorry. Look, I'll be fine by the morning."

John dropped the shirt to the ground and went to fill a bowl of tepid water. "But you're not okay now. Let me help you alright?" He returned with the bowl and a face-cloth, dipping it in and then wringing it out. Sherlock could only nod and close his eyes when John began to dab at the cut on his arm. When the blood was cleaned off from his arm, John wiped it with anti-septic (which stung a bit and made Sherlock hiss), wrapped it with a bandage and secured it in place.

"I'm just going to check your ribs for tenderness, alright?" John received another nod. "Now, breathe in for me." Sherlock did as he was told and took a slow breath.

"It doesn't hurt."

"Okay, good sign. What about this?" John gently applied pressure to the ribs, and Sherlock hissed gently. "Alright, just a mild break in the cartilage… It's a small fracture. You," he stood up and leaned down to inspect his eye, "you have to take it easy. No running around for at least twenty-four hours. And I go where you go, understood?"

Sherlock watched John as he took care of him. He was so protective, so nurturing, that Sherlock wondered what would happen if he wasn't there. "Yes John, understand. You can stop fussing now and make me a strong cup of Darjeerling tea. Please."

John was mildly surprised at how Sherlock complied without a fight; the man was usually so defiant and petulant. He smiled and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "Coming up, love. Tobias missed you." John nodded to the tomcat who was sitting by Sherlock's feet, looking up at his master with wide eyes.

"Come on, then. Up." The detective patted his knees and Tobias hopped up a moment later. He made himself comfortable and lay down. John picked Bitsy up and carried her to her bed. He made both himself and Sherlock a cup of tea and settled into his own chair.

"You need to rest. Let's go to bed, eh?" John looked over at Sherlock a good twenty minutes later, who was almost dozing off where he sat. Taking his hand, John led him carefully up the stairs and prepared him for bed. "Hold still." He motioned, rubbing some healing cream onto his lip and anti-bruising cream around his eye.

"You're too kind for your own good, John." Sherlock whispered once he and John were under the covers. "It worries me sometimes."

"I'm just worried about losing you. Look, let's get some rest for tonight and forget all about Moriarty. Tomorrow, we'll head back to Scotland Yard and see if anything else has come up." John wrapped his arms protectively around Sherlock, afraid that if he let go, the man would simply disappear into thin air.

"Mhm. I'm sure this is just another one of his games." Sherlock said the word with distaste, seeing as Moriarty's last "game" almost left them dead. "Night, John."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

***

Rain was pouring down the next morning and it made Sherlock frown at the window. When John woke up, he glanced bleary-eyed down at his boyfriend and raised an eyebrow.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" The detective looked up and cleared his throat. The swell around his eye had gone down and his cuts were almost invisible. The look on his face was one of discomfort and annoyance.

"It's raining. Rain always means something bad. Don't expect anything good to happen." Sherlock sat up, feeling for tenderness around his ribs.

"I don't expect good news anything when it comes to Moriarty. Let me have a look at you." John peered down at Sherlock's chest. It was red and just a little bit swollen.

"It doesn't hurt anymore. The skin does, though." Sherlock sighed and let his head fall softly back against the headboard. "We should have a shower."

John pursed his lips and touched Sherlock's cheek lightly. "How about we take one together? Saving water and all that." Sherlock nodded, lips quirking upwards in a half smile.

John ran the shower and was gathering the shower gels and shampoo when he felt cool hand slip around his waist and under his t-shirt. He relaxed into Sherlock's embrace and let his head fall back onto the taller man's shoulder. "We should step in while the water is hot." Sherlock nipped at the shell of John's ear and they undressed each other.

John adjusted the shower hose so it would suit both of their heights. Turning around, he stood on tip-toe to kiss Sherlock. John's tongue brushed slowly along the detective's lower lip and he granted entrance, locking his arms around John's waist. The kiss was heated and by the time they pulled away, Sherlock's back was against the cool wall of the shower.

"Later." John whispered with a chuckle. "I don't want you waddling into the Yard thismorning. Lestrade will definitely know something is up." Sherlock laughed and they separated. The steam from the shower and the heat of the kiss took the blame for his flushed cheeks. John reached down and handed Sherlock the shampoo. They showered together, even taking turns to massage shampoo into each other's hair, and by the time they stepped out the bathroom was more like a sauna.

"I have no shirts or tops left. Jesus, we need to either get Mrs. Hudson to do some washing for us or find the time to do it ourselves." John towelled his wet hair and moved to Sherlock's drawer (yes, Sherlock's clothes officially took up half the space of his wardrobe) to fish around.

"She'll just give us the 'not your housekeeper' line again. But she'd still do it, bless her." Sherlock smirked when John pulled out a grey t-shirt.

"Sherlock is this really the biggest sized thing you own?" The t-shirt was not only tight - defining John's army muscles - but it was a v-neck and exposed some of his chest. John raised an eyebrow as he looked at himself in the mirror.

"In my defence it looks great on you." Sherlock broke into a grin and John pulled a face when he found a pair of his own jeans. No way was he chancing a pair of Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock dressed in his usual smart style; white shirt, black suit jacket and black trousers. John found a deep purple cardigan in the back of the wardrobe and shrugged it on over the t-shirt. He really did look gay.

*

"What the hell are the Yard going to think when I come in wearing this? And walking with you. I'm pretty sure they've already put two and two together from yesterday." John almost shrank behind his lover as they walked. He shivered a bit, cursing himself for once again leaving his jacket behind. 

"Does it matter what they think? We're a couple. Why should we have to hide that?" Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled him to his side. John just smiled and linked their fingers together. An elderly couple tutted at them in the street and it took all of John's decency not to ask them what the hell their problem was.

"Won't Anderson just use this to make snide comments about us?" John frowned as they approached the entrance to Scotland Yard. The doors were glass and inside John could see Anderson, Donovan and Lestrade in conversation. Sherlock stopped before entering and tilted his head at John.

"Of all the things to say John, really." He scoffed. "Anderson has the IQ of a bloody bird. His opinion isn't something to worry about." John stood for a minute looking into Sherlock's eyes.

"Oh fuck it, it really doesn't matter!" And with that, he grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his long coat and kissed him square on the mouth. Of course, all three on the inside saw. Donovan looked gobsmacked and Anderson looked utterly disgusted. Lestrade, however, just smirked and muttered a 'knew it' under his breath as they walked in.

"Morning Sally. Terrible weather isn't it?" Sherlock beamed at the woman, whose mouth was still hanging open. John just rolled his eyes – Sherlock's smugness about their relationship was cute but at the same time quite embarrassing.

"Right, how did Bart's go?" Lestrade asked, walking with the couple to his office,

"The lighter was empty." John sighed. "I don't know what it means."

"It doesn't mean anything." Sherlock added silently. His fingers were steepled under his chin in his thinking pose.

"What?" Lestrade folded his arms and shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Yeah, neither do I. I thought you said he meant for you to fill it?" John looked at Sherlock and the detective met his eyes briefly. "You know, trigger a chain reaction?"

"Forget that. The lighter was just a silly distraction. The picture is the real clue."

"So wait, what are you saying? Moriarty's going to burn John? Or… 'Burn the heart out of you' as he so elegantly put it." Lestrade sat down in his swivel chair and looked between Sherlock and John, who shook his head.

"He wants me out… I am Sherlock's heart, metaphorically speaking, and Jim Moriarty doesn't like that. He wants…" The doctor took a breath and looked down. "He wants Sherlock all to himself. And he's going to do everything he can until he gets his own way."

"No. John I already told you, I refuse to let him think he's won!" Sherlock paced back and forth in the small office, rambling off incoherent thoughts and muttering deductions. "We'll have to be extra vigilant, alright?"

Lestrade stood up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You two should go home. Take it easy. I'll see if there's been any suspicious behaviour around your flat." The DI opened the door but stopped John before he could walk out. "I suppose I should say congrats to you both."

"Thank you, Lestrade. Come along John." Taking the older man's hand again, Sherlock led the two of them out onto the street to wait for a cab. The clouds had darkened considerably and though the rain had stopped, the chill in the air along with the thunder in the distance was enough to make John shiver violently in his too-tight t-shirt.

Sherlock shifted his long coat to cover John, shaking his head. "That's what you get for leaving without putting your coat on." He murmured, for John's ears only. "I suppose I'll have to warm you up when we get home, won't I?" He held his head high enough that John couldn't see the colour staining his cheeks. Before they had sex for the first time he never would have had the nerve to say something like that. John could only smile and lean into Sherlock's heat.

The cab came and they sat in the back, entangled together to keep warm as they headed home.

*

John needed to know they were being protected. Sure, Mycroft had his cars follow the couple when he could, but he didn't know whether that was truly going to keep them safe. Nothing had happened in the two days since they had last been to The Yard, but it didn't stop the constant worry gnawing at John's stomach. He sent a quick text to Mycroft asking him to meet for coffee. John knew Sherlock would more than likely disapprove of his brother being so involved, so he would have to be sneaky.

"I won't be long." He whispered to the detective who was sleeping on the sofa. Ripping a piece of paper out of his notebook, John scribbled down a message explaining he was going to buy milk and he would be back soon. Making sure to bring his jacket this time, the doctor left 221B quietly and headed down the road.

Within two minutes, a sleek black car pulled up beside him. "Good evening John. Take a seat." Mycroft gave the man his usual half smile and opened the door.

"I'm sorry for interrupting you, Mycroft." John settled back on the creamy leather seats (they were also heated, John noted) and clicked his belt into place.

"Nonsense, John. Anything that is perturbing you or my brother is important to me." He tapped the tip of his umbrella to the back of the driver's seat and gave the name of some fancy French café John had never heard of. "I think congratulations are in order, too. You're good for him."

"Uh, thank you. We won't be long will we? It's just that Sherlock doesn't know I'm gone." John glanced outside as they turned down Kensington; a posher side of London.

"We shouldn't be. Ah, here we are - Le Jardin Des Cygnes." Mycroft said the name with a perfect French accent. "It means The Garden of Swans."

"Oh, right." John was let out of the car by the driver and looked up at the larger than average café. "This looks expensive. Can I pay you back later?" They entered and sat down at a table near the back. It was decorated with delicate white lace over a blue tablecloth.

"Don't worry about it John. My treat today." Mycroft took up the menu and sniffed, switching to the tea section. "Now, what was on your mind? I have already spoken to Detective Inspector Lestrade to get his side of all this."

"It's the flat. I don't know if it's possible but I was wondering if one of your men could keep constant watch on it. I've been losing sleep thinking about Moriarty and worrying about Sherlock."

"Already done." Mycroft said, waving over a waiter.

"What?" John was about to ask what he meant but this was Mycroft – Sherlock's older, protective brother who basically was the British Government.

"I had twenty-four hour surveillance set up for you both a few days ago, as you know. And the flat is constantly monitored. Your uncertainty surrounding your safety should subside somewhat. And John, there are two of you in this relationship."

"Well… Thank you… And yes I know but I still can't feel at ease knowing that son of a-" John calmed himself and rubbed his hand over his face.

"Chances are _your_ safety is more at risk. Don't forget that Moriarty's infatuation is with Sherlock. He's not going to want to hurt him before he tries to get you out of the picture." As the waiter came over, Moriarty gestured for John to order first.

"Oh, I'll have an omelette and a cup of coffee with extra milk please." He handed his menu up. Mycroft did the same.

"Just a Greek salad and a cup of green tea for me, thank you." Mycroft offered the waiter a little half-smile, so much like his younger brother's. It was easy to see where Sherlock got all his little quirks and habits. "Don't worry about him, John. It's Sherlock... He's a genius, remember? He'll keep himself safe."

"I just hope you're right, Mycroft. And thanks again for the surveillance thing." Mycroft hadn't mentioned that the surveillance had been set up right after John actually moved in. It was better to have him think it was a new thing or John would just become wary of him. Their order arrived several minutes later and they tucked in.

*

"I'll keep in touch John. You really are doing a wonderful job of taking care of my younger brother."

"I try my best. Thanks for everything." John shut the car door and headed upstairs. He was attacked by Sherlock the minute he opened the door. He was pinned harshly against the door and kissed hard, bruising and needy. When the detective pulled back, John could only pant for breath and catch him as he melted forward.

"A little more warning before you run out to the shops would be nice," he said softly. "And it would be even nicer if you came back with what you went out for." The lanky detective leaned in for another, slightly needier kiss, shifting slightly against John's chest. Even still wincing when he moved the wrong way, Sherlock's mind was still clearly in the gutter. The attack a few nights back night must have hurt him more than he realised.

"I'm sorry, love…" Did John dare tell him where he really went? Bracing himself, he pulled Sherlock back and looked at him. "…I went to see Mycroft. To talk."

"Why?" Sherlock's arms found themselves around John's waist, desperate not to let go. His tone had a hint of jealousy about it.

"I thought he might know more. He's really looking out for us, you know."

"I know that. The flat has been bugged for a while now." Sherlock pulled a face but made no snide comment.

"Oh? Interesting… He said it was only a few days ago. Wait, so that's how he knows about us? He's been watching us?" John immediately wondered just how much the elder Holmes brother actually saw.

"That and through Lestrade. It's his favourite game, watching me. Making sure I don't do anything silly. He's let up a good bit since you arrived." Sherlock chuckled softly and peeled away from John. "I'm hungry."

"Lestrade? Since when have those two started talking?" John took a breath and followed Sherlock. "Maybe we should go get a bite to eat? That new Thai restaurant you like is opened late for take-away."

"You should go. I'm sure Mycroft will have someone follow you." Before John had a chance to answer, Sherlock launched at him again and nuzzled John's neck. "I love you, you over-protective doctor." John stroked Sherlock's soft curls, inhaling.

"Someone has to be the protective one. You'd end up in a ditch somewhere if I didn't keep watch on you like this. I love you too, Sherlock." Giving one last squeeze, John leaned back. "I should go. I take it you want the extra spicy sauce too?"

"You know me so well." Sherlock grinned and handed John his wallet. "Don't be too long, love." John stole a quick peck before heading down the stairs and out the door. At best, the take-out was only ten minutes away. John was vaguely aware of a black car following close by. It was bigger than Mycroft's usual cars and possibly older going by the sound of that engine.

Eventually the car disappeared. Just as John's hand reached the handle of the Thai restaurant, he heard footsteps behind him.

"Now now, Johnny boy." John froze. There was no mistaking that menacing voice. "What are you doing off that leash of yours? Loyal pets never leave their master's side." 

Moriarty. 

Taking a slow breath, John turned around to face the voice.

Moriarty's face was twisted in an evil smirk, standing by the open door of the same black car that had been following him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on a RP, just to let you know. If the characters seem OOC, I apologise. Since this, both my partner and I have improved. I'm trying my best to edit without changing too much of it.
> 
> Smut in this chapter. Whoo.

John knew what he had to do. While his hand was in his pocket, he pushed the first number on the keypad of his phone; speed-dial for Sherlock. Of course, it was all done in a sneaky manner. Now he would have to wait, and hope this would be a success or it could all end in tears.

"Jim. It's been a while." John couldn't bring himself to look at those dark eyes for more than a few seconds. Moriarty just laughed and took a step forward.

"Save the small talk, John. We need to get down to business." Stopping just before John, Moriarty who was just an inch shorter, leered forward. "I want you to be a good dog and do my bidding. It's my job to get rid of strays." John could feel his heart-rate increase with every word he spoke. Jim was a dangerous man.

"If you get rid of me," John wet his lips nervously. He was taking a big risk here, "It will break Sherlock's heart. I thought you wanted to keep Sherlock all to yourself?"

"Well, that was the plan yes. What is your point, Johnny boy? You're only wasting time."

 _Good,_ John thought. "My point is that even if you do succeed, Sherlock would be too upset or perhaps too angry to do your will. Therefore, your plan will just fail. Am I right?" Glancing briefly behind the Irishman, John could hear the screeching of tyres. His phone buzzed at that time. Sherlock was trying to re-connect with him.

"You really think I'm thick don't you?" Moriarty smirked again and licked his lips. "I always have a plan, Johnny boy. Now be a good pet and get into the car." John gulped, thinking he should have brought his gun. It was too late now – all John could do to keep himself alive was to go along with the criminal. Either that or risk death. No way was he going to let Moriarty have this round.

"Fine... I'll do what you want." John swallowed. Sirens could be heard in the distance and John knew not to react. But Moriarty wasn't deaf, and he certainly wasn't stupid. Taking John's arm, he roughly yanked him forward to his car and pushed him in. John landed with a harsh thump onto the floor of the car. The sirens got louder and Moriarty cursed quietly.

"Stay." He warned John, glaring at him. John remained completely silent.

"Where is he? What have you done with him?" Sherlock's voice thundered from across the road. John sat up when Moriarty's back was turned. Mycroft could be heard telling his brother to stay calm.

"We've you got you surrounded, Jim. Give it up!" Lestrade roared, both he and his team stepping out of their cars with guns raised. They all knew of the shit Moriarty could stir. John caught Sherlock's eyes and the detective shook his head briefly.

"I see you've come to collect your dear pet, Sherlock. He's been very obedient. I can see why you fell in love with him." Moriarty's grin was like a shark. "Then again, this is the second time he's been so eager to risk his life for yours."

"I'm the one you want. Just take me and let John go." Sherlock sounded distressed and couldn't meet John's eyes. Or at least, judging by the very brief glance he shot his lover, was pretending. John knew that look all too well – Sherlock had a plan.

"Offering yourself to me freely? This all seems too good to be true. Then again," Moriarty walked forward until he was in the middle of Sherlock, Lestrade's team, and John in the car, "I can't waste a good offer now can I?"

Sherlock feigned fright, widened his silver-blue eyes and gulped loud. "Just do it. I know John will find me anyway. Now hurry up before I change my mind." Just as Moriarty went to take another step forward, John knew he had to do it.

"No!" He jumped out of the car and latched onto Moriarty to pin him down. "You bastard!" If John had a gun he would shoot him right there and then. Sherlock ran forward and tore John away from the psycho. He dragged him towards Mycroft's own sleek black car until he was against the door.

"John," he whispered, "Trust me." John felt his knees turn to jelly, and the very leg that was the victim of a psychosomatic limp just a few months ago started to act up again. He could only nod.

"Now!" Sherlock looked at Lestrade and gestured with his hands to Moriarty. Lestrade's team immediately started to shoot at Moriarty. The only place the criminal got hit was barely even a hit. It grazed past his thigh and once he was distracted by the pain, Lestrade handcuffed him. But even through his pain, Moriarty still managed to send a smirk towards the couple.

"Don't think you've won just yet, Sherlock Holmes. I'm only getting started." He winked at the detective and sneered at John. "Take me away boys!" As the psycho was led into one of the police cars, Sherlock turned to John. By now he was supporting himself on the car door. Mycroft had given them some space, walking instead to Lestrade for a private conversation.

"You knew I was here?" John asked, receiving a hug from Sherlock. He had forgotten about ringing him.

"You called me and I immediately called Mycroft. Of course, he was already halfway there so I got Lestrade to collect me and bring me to you. CCTV comes in handy."

"I'm sorry for putting us in danger." John leaned into the hug and was helped into Mycroft's car by Sherlock.

"You didn't put anyone in danger, John. And he got arrested."

"Didn't you hear him? Sherlock, he got away once he'll do it again!" John was getting frantic now and it took Sherlock having to sit in beside him and hold him to calm the man down.

"Stop it! We're safe. You're safe. Let's go home, alright?" Sherlock's hand carded through John's short cropped hair and he gave his lover a kiss. "He can't possibly do anything now. He's playing games with us. Fear, John, is our biggest enemy."

John relaxed and it took all his might not to take Sherlock for himself right here in the back of Mycroft's car. 

"Lestrade is locking him up for tonight. He will be questioned first thing in the morning." The elder Holmes brother looked between them. "Remember that I am going to do everything I can to keep the two of you safe."

"Thank you, Mycroft." Both John and Mycroft raised an eyebrow at this. Sherlock's tone of voice was so genuine and the detective even offered his older brother a warm smile.

The cab may have been bringing them back to their safe-haven, but John somehow knew the war was not over yet; it was only beginning.

***

 

Waking up late the next morning in John's arms was a godsend. Sherlock couldn't imagine being without his blogger, his best friend and first ever lover. If Moriarty had won last night, if John hadn't phoned Sherlock or if they had been a minute late… Sherlock didn't want to imagine.

John was also the only one who could take Sherlock and actually make the genius stop thinking; that itself was a huge achievement. In the great detective's defence, though, it was only when they had sex. That's what he told himself, at least. After the events of last night, they'd gone straight home and into bed, Sherlock being shagged silly until the wee hours of the morning.

The rain from the previous day hadn't died a great lot. It still trickled down the windowpanes and into the gutter, the noise of it gurgling outside the window. It was still drizzling when Sherlock woke up. Turning over to face John, who was still fast asleep, the detective smiled. His eyes were closed and his mouth open slightly – he looked so peaceful.

After a while of good, lingering staring, Sherlock finally sat up and swung his legs out of bed. It was about half past twelve in the day at this point and he could stay in bed no longer. John, however, needed sleep. Sherlock may be one for going days on end without it and being able to function normally, but John lacked that ability. Tucking the covers around his sleeping lover and kissing his forehead, Sherlock sighed and went to look for his underwear and something to wear downstairs.

Smells of burning toast, overcooked bacon, added with the sounds of clattering and a string of four letter curses, made John stir from sleep. Pulling on some pyjama bottoms, John headed downstairs, fully expecting the kitchen to be on fire. What he saw made him smile and by the time he reached the main room, laugh.

"Oh, good afternoon John. Take a seat!" Sherlock was in the middle of cracking an egg into a sizzling pan. Already laid out on a plate where John normally sat were two sausages, a strip of almost-black crisped bacon and a slice of toast (the singed part had been scraped off with a knife, by the looks of it.)

"You cooked breakfast? Well this is a first." John feigned shock and sat down. "I'm messing, love. Thank you."

"Well really it would be considered brunch. I've done this before. It's just been a long time. And the yolks of these eggs are running!" Sherlock grumbled something like a threat to the eggs before whisking them around. "I hope you don't mind them scrambled. Oh, and there's tea in that pot beside you."

"Scrambled egg sounds lovely." John chuckled and poured out two cups. "Aren't you going to eat any?" He took a bite of his bacon and declared it edible.

"I already had a slice of toast when I cooked this." John looked to the plate next to him and saw evidence of toast crust left behind. Shaking his head, he plucked one of his own sausages from his plate and put it on Sherlock's. The detective came over and scraped the egg onto John's plate.

"Now sit down, love. Your tea will go cold." John pulled out Sherlock's seat as he sat down with a smirk. Sherlock looked down at his plate with a roll of his eyes, but nibbled at his sausage anyway.

"Is it alright? The bacon go a bit burned and I wasn't sure about the sausages but they smelled okay so-"

"It's fine, Sherlock. Here," John scooped up a small amount of egg onto his fork and held it out, "You may as well taste your own food." Sherlock looked at the fork and then back to John. A hint of a smirk was playing at the corners of his lips. Parting those lips, the detective darted his tongue out to moisten them. Slowly, his lips closed around the fork and very, very seductively he slid the egg off and sat back to eat it. All the while John had been biting his own bottom lip.

"Very nice, John. I really must be a wonderful cook." Sherlock's tongue ran along his bottom lip to lick any excess food away. A quick, unexpected kiss from John confirmed those thoughts and Sherlock held him there by the back of his neck for a few more seconds. The sudden hungry cry of Bitsy twirling around their legs made them both separate.

"I guess Bitsy wants a sample of your culinary prowess too." John tore off a square of Bacon and threw it down to Bitsy. Of course, like children, if one gets something then so should the other. Tobias hopped down from Sherlock's armchair where he had been resting, gave a long stretch and purred at John's feet until he too got a piece.

"I see the kids are hungry." Sherlock snorted and noted how trusting Tobias had got of John. "How about we take a break today, just for ourselves?"

"I'd like that." John's hand found its way across the table to Sherlock's, fitting it and holding it. The detective smiled and they finished their breakfast in silence.

*

After their food, it was decided that they wouldn't be going outside for a little while. Gathering a blanket, pillows, and some DVD's, John set up the couch so it would be comfortable for the both of them. He pulled Sherlock down beside him and flicked through the channels, cuddling close to his boyfriend.

After half an episode of something that John had seen already, the doctor started to get bored (god, was he picking up Sherlock's habits?)   
His hand trailed slowly up Sherlock's shirt, plucking at but not opening the buttons. His fingers slowly traced the long, pale neck and jawline. Sherlock just smiled and tipped his head back slightly to give John more leeway. The blonde man squirmed and while Sherlock was distracted by one of the scenes on the telly, shifted his position entirely so he was straddling Sherlock's lap.

"You know, Sherlock," John's hand was now on Sherlock's chest, scratching playfully at the light material, "Mycroft said there were cameras watching us. How about we try for some privacy? Give him a show to scare him into turning them off." His voice had dropped to a low whisper and he nipped lightly at Sherlock's ear.

"John? Now? But it's the middle of the… Oh…" His cheeks flushed lightly at the nip on his ear. Until John had taken a liking to doing that he hadn't even thought of that as a particularly sensitive spot, but now it had him shifting in his seat and closing his eyes. "I see. Well, hopefully he has the sense to turn them off this time. I think that assistance of his, Anthea, might enjoy listening in a little too much."

"Anthea too? Oh dear…" John tutted and pressed his body closer, moving his lips to suck on Sherlock's sensitive skin under the jawbone. His mouth moved down slowly until it reached the crook of his neck and it left a red mark there. Sherlock's shirt buttons were eventually worked open to expose his chest. Giving his lover a wanton gaze, John leaned down and licked gently at one taut nipple.

Sherlock's back arched just a little bit. John let his hand palm at the growing bulge under Sherlock's trousers, emitting a shuddered breath from the detective's plump lips. "Dammit, John, this couch just isn't conductive to this." How he still managed such eloquent sentences was beyond anyone. He had to take soft pants between, but he still managed a mostly coherent sentence. "But I can't be damned to move." He added finally, bringing a hand up to curl it behind John's head and pull him into a somewhat messy kiss with his other hand slowly making its way up John's back.

Before John could control it, a choked, needy moan escaped him and he had to pull back from the kiss and hide his face in Sherlock's neck. "…John?" Sherlock tilted his head and peered down at his boyfriend.

"I-I'm fine. I just got a mental image that's all." To think he had just about moaned before anything actually happened was a bit embarrassing.

"John, any sort of mental image that pulls that sort of noise from you, is something I want to know. You rarely get so shy over this."

"I… It's not important. Just kiss me!" John was holding back from grinding against Sherlock's hips and he had to take a deep breath to compose himself.

"No, I want to know. Tell me." John just couldn't resist that voice anymore. Closing his eyes out of embarrassment, the doctor could feel his cheeks burn.

"The image," He pressed closer to Sherlock and spoke into his shoulder, "Was us... switching places.."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, pulling John back so he could look at him. Of all the questions he could ask at a time like that.

"I mean… Oh, god. I mean instead of me… topping you, you top me." John groaned and looked at Sherlock. "I told you it wasn't important." John got a blinking Sherlock in response.

"Well… U-um, that's an interesting thought to have." Sherlock finally smiled and touched John's cheek quickly. That seemed to be their little code, a silent I Love You and a sign that everything would be fine. "Studies show that couples last the longest if both partners give and take. You seem to be the one giving all the time so… now it's my turn." John immediately calmed down.

Sherlock continued where he left off, giving John a long, heated kiss. Though he didn't look it, the detective was very strong when he had to be. He was strong enough to curl his hands under John's thighs and lift him up high enough to turn around and lay John on his back.

"O-only if you're sure about this, Sherlock." John was answered with a roll of his eyes and another kiss. Sherlock told him to wait and ran upstairs. In a matter of seconds (a record) he was back down again with the lubricant. Tossing it aside for a minute, Sherlock turned his attention back to John. It was a good thing he was only in his pyjama bottoms for the time being; made things a whole lot handier.

The detective's long and slender fingers ran along John's toned, tanned body, tracing the lines of taut muscle. He shimmied down further so his face was level with John's boxers. This was rather new to Sherlock, and his eyes flicked upwards. Seeing the obviously pleased look on John's face, he continued. Taking the waistband of John's boxers between his teeth, he dragged them down to free John's length and threw them aside.

His hand curled around the base of John's cock and slowly worked its way upwards. John closed his eyes, hands grabbing onto the sides of the couch. Sherlock kept up his slow pumping, thumb stroking over the head. That made John intake a sharp breath. Smirking, Sherlock did that a few more times, even daring to lick at it with his tongue. He wasn't quite confident enough to take it all into his mouth just yet.

Looking down at his own erection which was getting harder by the minute, and then back at John's, Sherlock took both of them into his hand. A low purr rumbled through his chest as he pleasured them both, grinding lightly when John rolled his hips. Before they became too excited – seeing as they were both leaving little spots of pre cum – Sherlock reached down and took the lube to prepare himself.

First he had to stretch his lover from the inside, so he did so. Because his fingers were long and thin it meant he was able to fit two inside with ease and it wasn't long before he was hitting off John's prostate. John moaned and arched up, head tipping back as he panted.

"Put your legs over my shoulders." He told John when he stopped, slicking his cock up. John did as he was told, still panting as he raised his legs and slumped them over Sherlock's pale shoulders. Sherlock put his hands on either side of the couch beside John's head and lined himself up. "I love you." He whispered, bending down for a kiss at the same time as he pushed in.

John whimpered, mainly because he was tighter than he expected. He controlled his breathing and opened his eyes, looking up at Sherlock until he stopped, buried into John as deep as he could go. He wasn't quite as thick as John, but he was a little bit longer. John swallowed and pushed his hips forward, silently urging Sherlock to move. 

Wriggling his hips a bit, Sherlock pulled slow back and then quickly thrust back in. John yelped, but not in pain, and his eyes fluttered. One hand clutched at the blankets below them and the other dragged Sherlock down by the neck so he could kiss him. As the pace picked up, their breaths mingled in each other's mouths, John's occasionally pierced with a moan.

He keened softly when Sherlock thrust up against his prostate, having to pull back and gasp for air. "Oh god, yes, yes!" His hand clutched at Sherlock's arm and he threw his head back in ecstasy. Sherlock groaned and snapped his hips just _so_ , keeping John just on the verge of climax.

"Sherlock, please..." John whined, rolling his hips up to meet Sherlock's thrusts. Sherlock grunted in acknowledgement and reached between their bodies to grasp John's cock. He stroked up and down, breathing ragged, and felt John beginning to tighten around him.

"Come on, John," he panted, "Cum for me."

John moaned, low and guttural, and felt heat coil low in his stomach. God, he was so close, so so close, just a few more thrusts and-

" _Aangh, Sherlock! Sher-_ He broke off with a near-scream, clamping one hand over his mouth in case Mrs. Hudson was in; that would have been embarrassming. He came, spilling over Sherlock's fingers and closing his eyes. Sherlock fucked him into the sofa, gasping and sweating until he too orgasmed, burying himself in and going still.

"John!" Sherlock collapsed onto his lover's chest and panted along with him. He had managed to reduce his strong army doctor into a moaning, sweaty mess. After a few minutes Sherlock finally spoke up.

"I can see why you suggested we do a position swap… It was different but God did that feel good."

"Ditto." John sighed and brought Sherlock's head closer for a kiss. "…We should probably get dressed properly. We don't want Mycroft switching back on the cameras to find us both naked and entangled with eachother." Neither of them was aware of the fact that Mycroft was currently… pre-occupied. Instead, one of his men was keeping watch (but the cameras had been turned off since.)

"I think that's best. I'm so inclined just go to sleep, though."

"But?" John pressed, hauling them both to their feet and going upstairs hand in hand.

"You know me all too well." Sherlock smiled halfway up the stairs and tugged John along. "I was thinking of going to Bart's for the evening. Molly has some fresh limbs for me to test on."

"As long as they don't end up in our fridge this time." John half-scowled as they entered the bedroom. Some of their clothes had been washed, ironed, folded and put away courtesy of Mrs. Hudson. She was the third person to have congratulated them on their relationship. "At last" she had said. John wondered if it was the floorboards or the headboard that had given them away. Either way, their old landlady was chuffed.

The couple were in the middle of getting dressed when it happened. John had been attacking Sherlock's ticklish sides, causing the detective to squeal and plead for John to stop through tears of laughter. Everything was fine until there was a knock on the front door. At first, neither of them thought anything of it, with Sherlock quickly buttoning up a new shirt before saying "I'll get that, love," and going downstairs in sock-clad feet to answer the door.

John shrugged on a maroon coloured cardigan and fixed the tail of his tartan shirt when he paused. _Impossible…_ he thought. He could have sworn that voice downstairs sounded like- No, no that was really impossible. A few seconds later Sherlock's voice travelled upstairs.

"John? Can you come down please?" John knew Sherlock well enough to know when he was afraid. There was the slight shake and raised pitch in his words. Crossing his fingers and praying that his thoughts weren't true, John made his way slowly downstairs and then down the second flight of stairs to the front door.

Sure enough, there standing by the open door with a gun in his hand was Jim Moriarty…


	5. Chapter 5

John was frozen on the bottom step. For a second, everything seemed to shut down; his vision blurred, ringing started in his ears and his nearly gave out. Even the old shake in his hand was starting to come back.

"Well hello there Johnny boy. How nice of you to join us." Moriarty twirled the gun around in his hand. Sherlock kept his gaze fixed onto the wall in front of him, not daring to look at either of them.

"What do you want, Jim?" John kept his voice as steady as possible. How the psychopath was even released from jail was a mystery.

"I had a chance to think while I was in my nice, cosy cell last night. I was thinking how right you were." Moriarty smirked and stepped inside the door. Sherlock flinched and inched closer to John, glancing briefly at him. John could see the fear in his lover's eyes and his heartbeat sped up. "You see, it is you I want to hurt, John. But in order to do that I'll have to take away Sherlock now won't I?"

"You leave him alone!" John stepped down from the last step so he was between the two of them. Sighing dramatically, Moriarty pointed his gun at them both.

"I thought you would do this. Either you follow my orders or I kill you." Sherlock turned his head to Moriarty and opened his mouth.

"What do you want me to do?" The detective's mouth had run dry as he spoke for the first time.

"I want you to be a good lad and come with me. But you can't go around in your socks. John, be a good pet and get Sherlock some shoes and maybe a coat?" The gun had been lowered but the couple both knew if they didn't follow orders things could get ugly. Sherlock nodded at John once.

The doctor all but sprinted upstairs. He hadn't much time and he knew if he didn't hurry, Moriarty would get suspicious. Taking a piece of paper and a pen, he scribbled down a note: _I'm calling Mycroft, help is on the way. I'm going to find you Sherlock, and I'm bringing my gun with me. I love you so much, don't ever forget that._ John made the note as small as possible so it would be less noticeable. Taking a pair of Sherlock's shoes, he slipped the note into the toe of the shoe, made sure it wasn't visible and went downstairs. He took up Sherlock's suit jacket from the couch too and when he got back downstairs, Moriarty looked quite impatient.

"These were the most comfy shoes I could find for you." John helped Sherlock put on his shoes and when he was done, Moriarty was on the verge of laughing at them.

"It's time to go, Sherlock." Moriarty pocketed his gun. Seeing the look on the couple's face, he rolled his eyes. "Oh come on now I'm not completely heartless. I'll give you two a minute to say goodbye." Smirking, he stood by the door. John got up and hugged Sherlock, inching backwards as if the hug had thrown them both off balance. In reality, it was just to get out of earshot.

"John-"The detective was cut off by John's lips, kissing him hard as if it were the last time they would ever be together. Who knew? It might just be.

"Sherlock listen to me." John's voice was barely a whisper, speaking into the kiss. "Are you listening?" A quick nod was given. "I've slipped a piece of paper into the toe of your left shoe. When he's not looking, take it out and read it." He kissed Sherlock again, slower this time. The detective's arms tightened around John's waist. Neither of them wanted to let go.

"I love you." Sherlock whispered as the broke apart. Their hands connected.

"I love you, too." John could feel his voice breaking. One of Sherlock's hands tenderly touched his lover's cheek, the other still holding John's.

"So sorry to break this little emotional sayonara," Moriarty's voice was mocking, "but we have a schedule Sherlock. Come along now." John and Sherlock kept staring at eachother as Sherlock slowly walked towards the door. Their hands finally separated and the detective was harshly shoved out.

As soon as the door closed, John broke down. He fell to his knees and held his tingling cheek. His tongue ran along his mouth where he could still taste Sherlock. His lover had been taken. Sobbing but refusing to let a single tear fall, John brought himself to his feet and ran blindingly up to his room. He fumbled around for his phone, searching for Mycroft's number.

*

"I already have a driver following them." Mycroft was sitting in Sherlock's armchair, frowning. He looked like he had dressed in a bit of a hurry, hair a little bit mussed at the edges. Maybe he had been pulled away from a secret lover? Then again, his younger brother _had_ just got kidnapped, so it could just have been worry.

John was pacing back and forth, shaking his head, until Mycroft stood and sighed. "We still don't know how Moriarty escaped. I knew I should have stayed at home. Sometimes my men leave the sound off when they turn the cameras off."

"It's not your fault Mycroft. It's mine. I shouldn't have let Sherlock go!" John snatched a bag from the ground and headed for the stairs. His mind was still reeling.

"It wouldn't have worked. He had a gun, you said." Mycroft stood and sighed. "Look, go upstairs and pack a few things. By the time you come down I'll have a car ready and waiting." John was already gone up to his room by the last few words. He rushed around and shoved in random clothes, a watch, his phone charger and… Sherlock's scarf. He forgot to give Sherlock his familiar black coat and scarf. Sherlock never went out into the cold without them.

John sat on the edge of the bed and held the blue fabric scarf close to his nose. He inhaled deeply. A hint of his own shampoo was mixed with Sherlock's familiar scent. John smiled. "Using my shampoo again..."

*

"Yes, yes thank you Anthea. Tell James we shall be down in a few moments." Mycroft snapped his phone shut and watched as John descended the stairs. Sherlock's scarf was wrapped around his neck. "There is a driver waiting for us outside."

"Thanks." John looked over at Tobias and Bitsy, who were sitting together looking like two lost cats. "Oh I forgot about those two! Mycroft I can't leave them, they'll starve."

"It is sorted John. Mrs. Hudson will feed them on a regular basis."

"Sometimes I wonder how the world would function without a Mycroft Holmes." John bent down to give the cats a pet. 

"Are you ready, then?" Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the door.

"Yes. I've packed clothes for both myself and Sherlock." John took one last look around 221B Baker Street, taking in all its comforting mess (but lack of Sherlock) before turning back to Mycroft. "Let's go."

Downstairs, Anthea was typing away on her Blackberry and didn't even look up as she said, "Good afternoon Doctor Watson."

"Afternoon." John replied.

"John this is James, my driver. James, this is John Watson – partner of Sherlock." Mycroft introduced the driver as he stepped out of the car and opened the other car doors. The elder Holmes brother then excused himself to take a phone-call.

"Nice to meet you, James." John greeted and offered his hand. He was about John's height with dark brown hair and a slightly thinner physique.

"Likewise Mr. Watson." James shook John's hand briefly and then turned his attention to Mycroft when he hung up. "Where will we be driving today, Sir?"

"They're telling me he's headed for Sussex, so drive us there."

"That's over an hour away, isn't it?" John sat into the car and let his head fall back against the headrest. Anthea and Mycroft joined him.

"It is, John. You should get some rest and I'll wake you if there's anything new." Mycroft smiled and tried to be re-assuring by patting John's knee. The doctor could only sigh and slump down in his seat, face buried in Sherlock's scarf.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning of abuse in this chapter, and rape in the chapter after next. Skip if you must.
> 
> Also, POV's change. Next chapter onwards is beta'd properly. Because this was written over a year ago, my writing has improved since. Hopefully I've made it bearable to read.

"W-where are we?" Sherlock woke up to Moriarty's car coming to a stop. He had been drugged as soon as they left just to weaken him. But Sherlock Holmes was resilient to drugs and despite the fact he may have been a bit disorientated, he was far from weak just yet. His head got lighter when he sat up and Moriarty reached out to tilt his chin upwards.

"Your new home, Sherlock." The psychopath cooed and gave the chin a quick tap, making Sherlock flinch and inch away. "Now now. We can't be shy anymore, my love. Let's go." He led Sherlock out of the car. Blinking around quite bleary-eyed, the detective saw a huge white-stone mansion surrounded by four high walls. There was an iron gateway which was heavily armed and two watchtowers. _More Goons,_ Sherlock thought as he was further led up the pathway to the entrance of the mansion.

"I don't want this." Sherlock grunted as the door was shut behind them. There was no way of escaping; Moriarty still had his gun kept close and the guards looked brutal and armed.

"There are things none of us want, Sherlock, but we just have to put up with that now don't we?" Moriarty rang a bell and in a matter of seconds, a dining hall to their left was opened up. "How about we share some food before the fun commences, shall we?"

"Is there a bathroom?" Sherlock glanced around. Moriarty sighed and clicked his fingers. A stocky man who could only be labelled as 'Bigger Goon' came around the corner.

"Take him to the bathroom, Bradley, will you? Just stand outside the door and make sure he doesn't escape." Moriarty winked and made his way to the dining room. Sherlock, still quite groggy from the drug, stumbled as he was led down the hall and into a large bathroom. Once inside, he proceeded to take off his left shoe and pull out the note. He smiled; good old John, always thinking ahead.

Ripping the note into tiny pieces to get rid of the evidence, the detective flushed them down the toilet. Looking at himself in the large bathroom mirror, Sherlock repressed a sigh. What the hell was going on? He shouldn't have left John like that… John…

"Oi, you done in there or what?" Bradley's voice came thundering from the other side just as Sherlock opened the door. "Master Moriarty is waiting for you in the dining room." Taking Sherlock by the elbows, the Bigger Goon led him to the dining room. It was large with an obscenely long table extending lengthways down the middle – like something from the films.

A large feast was laid out at each end; one for Moriarty and one for Sherlock. Sitting down, Sherlock offered Moriarty his best glare and crossed his arms.

"Eat up now, Sherlock. That was an order. My maids cooked this delicious meal for us." Moriarty grinned and poured out a glass of red wine, handing it to a timid looking blonde maid to take to Sherlock.

"I'm not eating any of this." Sherlock sneered, ignoring the glass of wine. For all he knew, it all could have been drugged or poisoned. Moriarty shrugged and stuck his fork into a piece of chicken.

"Suit yourself. You're missing out though." His tone was almost mocking as he ate the lump of poultry.

"I'm sure I am." The detective folded one leg over the other and waited for something, anything, to happen.

"One might say I should punish you." Taking up his glass, the criminal licked his lips around the rim. If that were John, Sherlock would have found it arousing. But it was his enemy and so he was disgusted. "Maybe I will. And very harshly. Just as soon as I finish up here. We have all the time in the world."

 _That's what you think,_ Sherlock thought with inner glee, just wait. For the duration of the meal he sat there, giving Moriarty dagger glares and exaggerating his sighs rather loudly - if anything, it would hopefully annoy him. What Moriarty didn't know was that Sherlock was used to going for long periods of time without food (much to John's displeasure) and that he wouldn't be hungry until at least the next day, if that.

*

"John, wake up." Mycroft shook John gently and the doctor's eyes fluttered open. His head was resting uncomfortably on the car window and he felt almost more tired than he had been when they left Baker Street. "We're just going to stop for some tea."

"Where?" John looked out the window. They were stopped in some quaint little countryside town.

"Not far from Sussex. I've made some phone calls, John."

"Regarding Sherlock?" John opened the door and stepped out with Mycroft. Anthea said something to Mycroft as the car drove away to park, leaving the two standing outside a small café.

"Sort of. I called DI Lestrade. He and a team-member should be arriving later." Mycroft led them both into the little café and to a small window seat. A waiter who looked very impatient handed them a menu each.

"I'll take a Greek Salad and green tea please." John noted that Mycroft seemed to be sticking to his diet (not that he needed to; the man was whippet thin) and seemed to only order Greek salad and a cup of green tea when eating out. When John didn't respond to the waiter's comment of 'and you, Sir?', Mycroft gave his leg a nudge with the tip of his umbrella.

"Huh? Sorry?" John looked up to see the man roll his eyes and tap his pen impatiently on the notepad.

"He asked your order John." Mycroft gave John a concerned look.

"Oh sorry. Just a cup of coffee please." Writing down the order in a scribble, the waiter turned away and stalked to the kitchen area. John was displeased at his attitude and scowled at his retreating figure.

"Are you alright?" Mycroft rested his elbows on the table and his chin on top of his locked hands. He looked sort of graceful.

"Yeah… Actually no, I'm not. I just want Sherlock back. I don't know what Moriarty wants to do to him but my gut tells me this isn't going to end well Mycroft." John's hand started to shake and he immediately clenched it into a fist on the table. Spotting this, the elder Holmes brother placed his hand in a comforting way over the fist.

"John you must stay positive. I know this is hard but it's Sherlock we're talking about. Remember what I said about him being a genius? He still is one and you know that. Now take a breath and calm down." John took a breath like he was told and sat back in his chair.

"…Thank you. Sherlock's lucky to have you as a brother." _Even if he doesn't always appreicate it._

"He's even luckier to have you as a lover." Mycroft offered his thin smile and retracted his hand back to his own half of the table.

"Have you ever been in love, Mycroft?" A strange question, but for some reason John just couldn't picture Mycroft being they type to have a wife and children. The older man's smile grew just slightly.

"I don't know if it's love. Deep affection, though… Yes." John noticed Mycroft used the present tense when his question had clearly been in the past. Saying no more on the matter, he fell silent. It was nice to know Mycroft had somebody too.

Their order arrived some time later after a discussion about what was to happen. They decided they couldn't decide much without Lestrade and whoever else was going to be present. 

"Are you not going to eat?" Mycroft's salad had been left untouched for the most part and Mycroft was fine with just a few mouthfuls. John, however, was built differently and ate more often than the Holmes boys.

"I'm not hungry." And it was truth. John had lost his appetite when Moriarty showed up.

"You will need your energy for later." Mycroft took a sip of his green tea, pulled a face and nudged it to the side. "You're welcome to the rest of my salad if you wish."

"I'm fine, but thanks anyway. I'll get something later maybe." John drank down his coffee – not caring that it burned his throat – and waved Mycroft's offer away. Shrugging lightly, Mycroft waited until John was ready to go.

*

Moriarty, it seemed, meant what he said about punishment. It was harsh. When he finished his food, the consulting criminal made Sherlock rise from his seat (he had to be dragged, actually, seeing as he did not obey) and pushed him down onto his knees.

"Shirt off." Moriarty shooed the other people from the room and took some rope from a small box. When Sherlock did nothing, his hair was roughly grabbed. "Don't make me hurt you more than I already want to. Obey your Master." Sherlock had no option, so he took his shirt off and it fell to the floor.

"Very good, pet. Now, lean forward so you can receive your punishment." Some rustling could be heard and when Sherlock leaned forward, he caught a glimpse of something long and fine-edged swinging from Moriarty's hands.

His hands were forced behind his back and tied together with rope.

"Are you ready?"

"…" Another rough pull of hair.

"I said, are you ready?"

"Y-yes-"

"Yes, Master!" Moriarty let go of Sherlock's hair and raised the whip above his head to lash it down.

The first lash made Sherlock cry out. He resisted crying out the second time the sharp edged whip licked across his back, instead making a low whimper and very, very quietly pleading for John. Moriarty grinned and tossed the whip aside. Bending down, he undid the knots tying Sherlock's hands behind his back.

"See now this is what happens when you disobey my orders, pet." He yanked Sherlock to his feet from the dining room floor and handed him his shirt. "But that was only the beginning. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes… Master." Sherlock could feel bile rising when he said that, pure hatred filling his stomach. His upper back was now lined with two straight horizontal gashes which stung when Sherlock shrugged back on his shirt.

"Now follow me and do as you're told. And you will never utter John's name while I am punishing you again. Clear?"

"Yes Master." Sherlock's mouth was set in a straight line as he followed the psychopath out of the dining room and up a large staircase.

It had only been about three hours since Sherlock was taken from John but already it felt like a day. Every second spent with Moriarty was as long as an hour. The sting on his back from the whip marks were starting to fade, but something told Sherlock that very soon he would almost crave that very sting; what was coming seemed way worse.

*

Mycroft's black car stopped some way away from a high stone wall surrounding what was assumed to be a large house. John couldn't tell, seeing as only part of the roof was visible. It was in the middle of the countryside and the only thing not a field for ages.

"Please tell me this isn't where Sherlock is." John asked, gulping and unconsciously pulling the scarf around his neck tighter. He could see, if he peered hard enough, a gate that was guarded by at least three strong men.

"It is, Doctor Watson." Anthea said, not once looking up from her Blackberry. Mycroft stepped out first, took a look around and signalled for John to follow.

"Keep a low profile, John. I'm sure those guards were told of our descriptions." The elder Holmes brother put his trademark umbrella back into the car just to be safe. There was a line of randomly spaced bushes and trees on the far side of the road, so they headed down that way. The car kept a safe distance behind, driving ahead of them so it wouldn't look suspicious.

"All I want to do right now is go in there and kill that bastard. I did bring my gun." John's voice was low but there was an edge to it that showed he wasn't lying. Mycroft touched his arm and they crouched down low as they got nearer.

"Likewise, John. But we can't be hasty. If we rush on in there I have no doubt things will get ugly." He sighed and squinted his eyes, looking to see which guard was the weakest. "We'll book ourselves into a hotel and wait for Greg- DI Lestrade to arrive. Come on, before we get caught." John knew only two people who called Lestrade by his shortened first name; himself and on rare occasions, Sherlock. To hear Mycroft say it was odd but they were friends weren't they? Well, associates anyway.

Making their way back to the car, John asked what hotel they'd be staying in. Anthea answered when Mycroft looked to her (she was still on her Blackberry.)

"Blue Hill Hotel, Sir." The assistant looked up from her Blackberry to the two men before glancing back down again. "Not far from here."

"Thank you Anthea. I'll be sharing a room with Lestrade. Anthea can stay by herself. John you don't mind sharing with James, do you?"

"Not at all." John nodded to the driver who glanced back in his rear-view mirror.

"James is straight so no need to worry." Mycroft smiled. "I'm just teasing. I'm sure you two will be fine." James and John laughed (John's first laugh since they left, but it was forced.) The car drove on for another fifteen minutes until they came to a small town. They arrived at the hotel, which was small and old, but elegant in contrast to the surrounding buildings. John sighed and looked at Mycroft.

"I suppose we should check in then." The doctor got out and looked up at the hotel. It would have been nice if Sherlock were there beside him and this was just a weekend break…


End file.
